Attack of the Semicolons
by tec4cleveland
Summary: One of the first things I ever wrote in the Combat! field. A spoof about a fanfiction writer who uses too many semicolons (i.e., me) and how it affects the squad. Short piece.


**ATTACK OF THE SEMI-COLONS  
** **(A Combat! Fanfiction Spoof)**

The squad was moving through the hedgerows near yet another small village in France when the handy-talkie over Saunders' shoulder buzzed. He swung it down and talked into it.

"This is White Rook, Checkmate King Two. Go ahead. Over."

The usually stalwart sergeant blanched as he listened to the intelligence from Hanley.

"S2's sure about this? Over."

He waited. Kirby and Littlejohn saw him cross his fingers and they exchanged worried looks.

"Acknowledged, King Two. Out."

He slung the radio over his shoulder again.

"What is it, Sarge?" Billy asked, his voice trembling. "Krauts? Tanks? Dancing Greek soldiers?"

"No, worse than that."

"Worse?! Not – oh, no! Fanfiction writers!"

"Worst one, too."

Just then, Caje came back from point. "All clear ahead, Sarge. What?" The entire squad, Saunders included, backed slowly away from him. "What?"

"S2 reports a sighting of -, of -, well, it's TEC4. Sorry, Caje."

The scout cowered. "No! What did I do to that woman?" He grabbed his shoulder. "I just got better. She'll get me shot again, I know it."

"Not to mention all those semi-colons," Littlejohn said gloomily. "I itched for a month after the last time."

"Hey, Billy," Kirby said. "You got any of that anti-punctuation powder?"

"Not for you; I'm gonna need as much as I can get if the swarms are as bad as they were before." Billy yelped as the stray semi-colon stung him. "Darn it, doesn't she know she's not supposed to use 'em in dialogue?"

There was a crashing in the bushes and a tall woman with short reddish-brown hair streaked with gray bounded into the clearing. "Hi, guys!" She found herself staring down the muzzles of several Garands, a BAR and a Thompson. "Whoa! Easy does it. I got a countermeasure for all those semi-colons from Skye."

The squad looked up warily. TEC4 smacked herself on the forehead with the heel of her hand. "Not the sky! Skye!" They looked at her, puzzled.

"My beta," she explained, slowly, patiently.

"Oh!" the squad said, nearly in unison.

She pulled a gigantic flit gun from a very small pack she was carrying. Billy shook his head. "How –"

TEC4 shrugged. "I borrowed it from Harpo Marx – don't ask."

A loud buzzing could be heard, not far away. "Skye fixed this up to keep me from overusing semi-colons," she called over the buzzing. "I have every confidence this'll work."

As the first punctuation mark came over the treetops, the squad ran for cover and TEC4 enthusiastically began working the flit gun. "See! Look! " Semi-colons began falling in every direction.

"That's it," she said a few moments later. "I got 'em."

There was a loud buzz; Kirby yelped.

"All but one."

Littlejohn gave an identical yelp; she winced.

"Or two."

TEC4 swanned over to Caje. "Don't I deserve a reward?"

Caje jumped back a couple of feet. "Yeah, of course. Kirby, reward her!"

"Me? Uh-uh. Billy, you take care of it."

TEC4's eyes glazed over sadly. She glided over to some bushes, pulled out a birdcage and record player and put a record on. Then she sat down and fed the bird while paying no attention to the puzzled soldiers.

Doc shook his head. "Now you've done it."

Sarge stepped forward. "Doc, isn't that …"

"Yep. Battle of the Roses fatigue. Looks like a bad case." He turned to the Cajun. "Caje, you have to fix this. Seein' as you're her favorite character, you're the only one who can get through to her."

"Can't we just leave her like this? She can't write any fanfic now, right?"

"Nah," Doc said, "she's actually more dangerous than ever. We could be overwhelmed by semi‑colons, sadistic SS Colonels or cute, orphaned French kids any minute. You've got to snap her out of it." He stopped Caje as he opened his pack and started to take out musical instruments. "No, Caje. No trumpets, no drums."

Caje shrugged. He took out a book and started to read it aloud in French.

Kirby smirked. "Sounds pretty hot."

Saunders moved to where he could see the cover of the book. "Real hot. B-257: Scouting and Patrolling. What's wrong, couldn't you find your rifle manual?"

There was a cry from Kirkbride. "Caje! It's not working." Kirkbride's shirt slowly began to change from khaki to red, from a US Army uniform to an odd velour shirt with no collar, a black band around the neck, a row of gold rickrack around the sleeves and an unusual insignia on the breast. "You gotta snap her out of this. Every time this happens to an OC, they get killed! I don't wanna die!"

The scout snapped. "You think this is easy? You think I keep teeter-totters in my pack? Or dolls? Where am I supposed to find a boat to row her on here in the middle of the bocage?"

"Yeah, right. You don't have to worry. She'd never let anything serious happen to her _precious Caje_ ," sneered Kirby.

Littlejohn sighed. "Caje, it's a lot simpler than that. She's a fanfiction writer. Isn't it pretty much the same with all of them?"

Caje nodded resignedly. "All right," he said reluctantly. "If I have to." He sat down next to an oblivious TEC4. "Your stories are really good. I liked Amélie and it was great that she liked me. And those illustrations - wow! You must have put a lot of work into them." He continued the compliments for a while, and slowly, TEC4 came back to herself. Caje quickly got up and scurried away.

"What happened?"

Kirkbride's shirt had changed back to normal, to his relief. Everyone else was busy looking at anything but her. "Oh, nothin'" "No idea." "Can't really say."

"Ri-i-i-ght." She jumped up. "Well, back to work."

They all groaned. Caje cringed and rubbed his shoulder again.

"Hey! My new idea is a squad story. I'm researching the Maquis and making sure it hasn't already been done, and then I'll get to writing. At least I write fast; you don't sit around waiting for me, right?"

There was a muffled curse from Saunders and a loud slap.

"Sorry." She moved back into the hedgerows. "See you guys later."

After she was gone, the handy-talkie buzzed again.

"White Rook to Checkmate King Two. Over."

Saunders listened. "A platoon of Krauts? No problem. Out." He looked around at the squad, who collectively sighed in relief. Krauts were easy. Krauts were nothing. Krauts were a piece of cake, compared to fanfiction writers.

"All right! Saddle up!" And the squad moved on.

-30-


End file.
